Tomorrow (11/11/17) I’m volunteering to do security for the annual KOTO-Public Radio Ski Swap in Telluride. I’ve worked this event a number of times in the past, and it’s always a nice opportunity to see friends in T-town I haven’t touched bases with since I moved to this side of the mountain.

The Birds of Prey World Cup Downhill Ski race in Vail happens every year on the first week in December, and two weeks ago I was able to send in an application to volunteer for the event. Just recently found out I’ve been accepted to work this year’s model. In the meantime I’m reminded of an essay I posted back in Summer 2012. Last Sunday I went back in and changed some of the essay wording, and here’s the re-post for all you David G. Swanson Website fans out there.

Word Count: 1098

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Voluntary Masochist

 

My evolution into adulthood has resulted in me being in some ways more like my mother than my father. Mom used to volunteer for all sorts of apolitical things, while dad on the other hand plunged into a variety of endeavors in the political arena. School board, city council, Mayor, chairman of the local Republican Party, etc., etc. Meanwhile mom never once dabbled in any sort of Machiavellian behavior (at least as far as I know?).

I’m like that. I like to volunteer for all sorts of functions, but have never done anything even remotely bordering on dipping my feet into politics. Does this say something about my own political philosophy? Probably not, because if it did, then things with government on the local as well as federal level might be even more schizophrenic than they already are. Is that possible? Unfortunately yes.

My propensity for volunteering started out at an early age. Whenever teachers at school asked for a voluntary curtain raiser, I was usually the first one to lift my hand. A willing victim in the eyes of some people? Probably, so I’m sure a bit of Catholic guilt had something to do with that.

Early examples included volunteering to clean the caulk boards after class ended, handing out graded papers, and collecting the equipment at the conclusion of another laughable attempt at trying to do a sport. Volunteering to shovel people’s walkway after a big storm immediately comes to mind.

Did I really need to serve as an alter boy at the local church every Sunday? Probably not, but then again my father and a good buddy of his used to give me money a lot of times I did it, so looking back that was probably the big incentive for me.

The big volunteer thing for me was of course my two-year hitch with the U.S. Peace Corps. What individual would actually spend the early years of their post-college graduate life working for way below minimum wage in a developing country? As one of my uncles so eloquently put it, “Another one of those lame-brained liberal stunts.”

Actually, I did it since I’ve always had this strong urge to experience offbeat adventures of one sort or another, and partially because I’d just earned a degree in environmental biology. Your choices after getting a B.A. in the study of living things are three-fold: 1. Try to get into graduate school, 2. Pick an alternate career (“would you like fries with that Sir?”) or, 3. Join the U.S. Peace Corps.

Maybe that’s why I’ve turned into such a volunteer freak? Yeah that’s it. My two-year PCV Hitch resulted in me becoming a fanatical helper. Sounds about right.

Small town life provides you with all sorts of volunteer opportunities. Not so much during my two-year self-imposed exile while living in Canon City, but a variety of chances during the time I inhabited that caretaker’s apartment across the mountains in Telluride.

The list of things I plunged into as a helper while in Telluride is endless. Ticket taker during the AIDS benefit fashion show, taxi driver at the Labor Day Film Festival, and helping package presents for the Christmas gift drive. The ultimate volunteer endeavor was working for the local public radio station-KOTO. Decorating for their fall Halloween party, carrying out various duties for the Ski Swap, and security guard at one function or another.

The big one is of course volunteering to work the Beer Booth during the Bluegrass Festival. Not because I like Bluegrass music (actually listening to a little bit of it goes a long way satisfaction wise), but more because I’ve always considered KOTO-Radio a good organization to volunteer for. Let’s be honest, I also wanted to earn that 3-day pass that comes with working the stall.

Depending upon the shift you’ve signed up for, working behind the Fermented Hops Stand for KOTO was sort of like the ultimate in controlled chaos. Its wet, sticky, money is flying fast and furious, and everyone is running around like chickens with their heads recently decapitated.  Luckily most of the other volunteers are also in good spirits, so that immeasurably eases the arduous pain of your shift.

My regrets from volunteering to work behind the KOTO beer booth were few and far between. There is one remorseful feeling. I was never able to convince any of my cohorts to sell a cup full of backwash from the overflow buckets. Just before we closed the stall on Saturday night many an inebriated and desperate buyer would walk up and ask us for one more beer from our dwindling taps.

Often the only thing we’d have left is the spillage beer and many potential customers would beg and plead for a cup of liquid Hops to satisfy themselves. Sell then the backwash? Did we ever do it? Of course not, that’s too disgusting. On the other hand, numerous times I contemplated carrying the task out. Would any of the Blood-Alcohol-Level-Way-Above-The-Legal-Limit Bozos know the difference? Probably not.

Since I’ve moved back over to this side of the mountain, there’ve been all sorts of volunteer opportunities in Silverton. The 4^th of July is like a chance to do any number of elective endeavors. Help get the family parade float together, go work behind the library’s Rhubarb pie-eating stall (sort of like the KOTO beer booth in terms of controlled chaos). Freeze your legs into a deaden mode by sticking them in the creek and assisting with the Duck race. The list goes on and on.

I never did set up that betting pool with my other colleagues at the Rhubarb stall. Basically to pinpoint the exact time our first customer walks up and asks us if we sell anything that doesn’t contain Rhubarb in it.

So why am I constantly raising my hand to help out with all sorts of activities? Almost all of it has to do with a strong sense of wanting to always do the right thing. I’m not a Buddhist, but I firmly believe in the concept of Karma. Constantly thinking of ways to improve my standing in the cosmic morality queue.

Volunteering for all this stuff also allows you to take advantage of all the free perks the organizers are forced to give their willing slaves. They pretty much have to part with something in order to get lots of unpaid assistance. Also a great way for someone like me to take advantage of all these neat social activities. Not have to pay one red cent to do any of them either.